Gold Dragon 1
Gold Dragon 1 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Rebel Warrior (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) * Rebel Wizard (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) Transcript Introduction "I have to," Crenus said. "I know." Isabella didn't turn from the window. She gazed out across the city, their capital, fingers pale on the sill. He looked around the little tower-top chamber, the private place where his wife withdrew when she needed solitude and he seldom trespassed. There were keepsakes from her childhood here. Rows of tomes with colored leather spines adorned an old bookcase, and pieces of gaudy costume jewelry that must once have delighted a young girl's eye gleamed in colorful array across a small table. But trinkets of that distant and pleasant time had been usurped. The room was now given over to another purpose. Isabella had been painting again. A canvas rested on a three-legged stand in the middle of the room, its back turned to him just as hers was. He began to move around it. She tensed, and for a moment looked as though she'd try to stop him. He paused. But she remained where she was, so he stepped between her and the painting. "I'll burn it," she said, "before anyone sees." "No," he said. He turned his head and managed a faint smile. "There are enough people burning me in effigy these days, without my queen joining in." The Crenus captured in soft, subdued watercolors was young. A mere child. Much younger than he'd been when they first met. Yet from what he could remember, the likeness was striking. Even the terrible hairstyle -- forced on him by servants at his mother's behest -- was so very close. The painted prince wore the same mournful look that he still saw in the mirror each day. Perhaps she'd read the boy in the man's face, peeled away the layers and uncovered him. His eyes were tilted upwards. They looked towards a third orb set in the middle of his forehead, a blue and gold nexus that seemed to pulse with inscrutable power. The colors here were richer and more vibrant. So potent that the boy was a faded shade in comparison. That third eye was bloodshot, and crimson vessels trailed away from it to the portion of canvas above his head. Each red thread split into two halves which wove round to frame an image inside their wavy border. There was a battlefield, strewn with corpses upon which the vultures were beginning to feed. One stood in the foreground with an eyeball clasped in its beak. Its own eyes matched it, a human's instead of a bird's. War and death stared at him from each of the blood-framed pictures. Except for one. That showed a %man's% face. Copied from a page of his journal. "I'm sorry," she said. "I... I don't know why I painted it." "It's okay." He put his arm around her. The two of them stood in silence for some moments, gazing at the portrait. "I have to," he said at last. "I know," she said again. She put her left arm around him. Her right hand rested on her belly, and its fingers stroked soft fabric as she looked into the boy's third eye. Conclusion "Roderick! Roderick! Roderick!" The chant reverberated through the town square, bawled from dozens of throats. Everyone was drunk -- some on beer, others on the heady thrill of crime and rebellion. A few heads leaned out of windows and called out the demagogue's name in time with the mob. They disappeared the moment Captain Ranlatta looked at them. That was good, at least. But she knew it wouldn't last. If she didn't get this fracas under control, and fast, the whole settlement would erupt. "Burn the bastard!" someone at the back shouted. "Burn the bastard!" A misshapen mass of straw and sackcloth rose up from whence the voice had come, suspended on the end of a pole. It wore something she took to be either a crown or a pie. "Death to Crenus!" A hand in a trailing, baggy sleeve came up next to the effigy. Flames burst from its palm and set the straw alight. In moments the conflagration had spread across the entire amorphous body, making those nearby scatter. "Mage," Sergeant Carmath said. She reached for her sword. "No!" Ranlatta grabbed her arm. "No blades unless we have to." "But-" "There are children in there!" The captain pointed. Little impish faces jeered between the adults and stuck out their tongues. "They're burning the king! That's-" "It's a sack of straw. It could be anyone." Carmath snorted. Ranlatta took a step forward, leaving the purple and gold line. Memories flooded her mind. They made her falter. "Death to Crenus! Death!" "Roderick!" "He lies on the altar, and his blood dyed the dust..." The beginning of the song steeled her. Whenever that spread through a crowd, it almost always ended in bloodshed. "All of you," she said, "back to your homes." "Help me!" A round, flabby face looked out of a window in the upper story of the building directly behind the mob. "General... Commander... Whatever you are! Help! I had to barricade myself in here! I-" "Piss off!" someone shouted. A turnip flew from the crowd. He ducked back inside just in time to avoid taking it on the chin. "Release the mayor at once!" Ranlatta said. "I said piss off!" Another turnip flew, this one at her. The captain batted it away. She sighed. If they did nothing, more missiles would follow. Perhaps worse. Ranlatta turned to Sergeant Carmath. "Truncheons," she said. "Just truncheons." She drew her own cudgel. "Death to Crenus!" A man charged from the crowd, waving a tankard in one hand, sloshing ale over his jerkin. A stick flailed in the other. Ranlatta smacked him in the side of the head. He went down, groaning. Some of the mob scattered at once. That was a good sign. Courage was laudable enough on the battlefield, though when it came to rioting peasants the captain preferred a healthy dose of cowardice. But others came for the soldiers -- swinging fists or makeshift weapons. Carmath and the others stepped forward to support her. Truncheons emblazoned with the golden dragon of the Seluthas rose and fell, cracking arms and bloodying heads. More fled the second they got hit. Only a handful of devoted or drunken louts tried to give battle after the first handful of thrashings. Unfortunately, one was the mage. He staggered in a widening area, next to the effigy which now smoldered on the ground by his feet. His eyes were red. His beard and grey robe were damp down the front, as though fumbling fingers had tried and failed to negotiate with a tankard of ale. The wizard's left hand clutched a gnarled stick that his unsteady weight leaned against. His right was shrouded in flame. "I'll burn ya, stupid dragons!" He waved his incendiary hand. A stream of fire arced through the air. Ranlatta ducked, and a wave of blazing heat passed over her. "Swords!" Carmath said. "No!" Ranlatta waved her back and lunged forward. The mage brought his hand around, fire trailing from it like a whip. She kicked him in the groin. "Urrgghh..." He doubled over and clasped his injured crotch. Since his hand was still aflame, this didn't end well. Fire licked across his robes. Ranlatta shoved him to the ground and stomped on him until it was extinguished. Then a few more times, for good measure. "Sergeant, take this man into custody. And them." She indicated the men and women rolling on the ground, the ones who'd fought instead of fleeing. "Yes, captain." Ranlatta looked around at the windows. But no one there was chanting or jeering now. She went to the mayor's scarred door and knocked on it. There were sounds of wood scraping against wood, then it opened to reveal the diminutive man. "Mayor De Chauntallion, I think you should come with us." He grunted, but nodded. "This is that Bloodwyn woman's fault," he said, wagging his finger as though it were a sword. "Who?" "Dido Celwer Bloodwyn! She's been telling her people to take officials prisoner. Anyone loyal to King Crenus." Dido... Captain Ranlatta grimaced. Category:Civil War